


Cakeless Birthday

by Nymm_at_Night



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Party, Comedy, Communication, Crack Treated Seriously, Dildos, EVERYONE IS SUPER GOOD FRIENDS, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Hot Mess, M/M, Michael Mell is Stressed (tm), Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Other, Praise Kink, THE TiTLE IS SHIT BECAUSE 6 PERSON PLATONIC ORGY FELT TOO GAUCHE, THIS IS OBJECTIVELY THE WORST, Trust, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, gratuitous dick jokes, i actually hate this, planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymm_at_Night/pseuds/Nymm_at_Night
Summary: Michael has no idea what to get Jeremy for his birthday. Jeremy, unfortunately, does.





	Cakeless Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This is bad. Like, objectively.
> 
> Thanks(?) to Livi, Eliza, Mika, Jenny and everyone else who supported this shit heap. You know what you did.

It’s January twentieth already and Michael is completely baffled as for what to get Jeremy for his birthday. February thirteenth is hurtling at him, and aside from the obvious stuff- new novelty socks, a couple bags of tea, plants for their betta fish- Michael is stumped. An entire logging operation’s worth of stumps, or maybe enough to fill one of those rainforests that documentary the other night was talking about, where the locals need to cut down trees to have enough farm space but the land is shit so it’s a waste and all the monkeys end up sad or dead or both.

Probably both. Dying sucks.

Michael groans and wipes his hands over his face, blinking blearily at the lined paper in front of him, empty of ideas save for a few half-assed doodles. The problem with 13 years of friendship and then a year of sort of kind of dating without really acknowledging it and then another 3 years of actual, serious, “Let's adopt fish and plan on becoming the elderly gay couple who takes in sad children and goes to block parties with fucking amazing sweet potato pie-  _ yes dear, the marshmallow's homemade, my sweetheart, Jeremy, is so talented with the mixer _ ” dating is that most of the options for big, knock your socks off gifts have been exhausted.

Mewtwo he’d traded with his brother’s cousin’s friend’s uncle’s kid for? The crowning moment of thirteen year old him’s life, well, up to that point, was seeing Jeremy gawk at that DS screen.

Crate of Mountain Dew Red Michael practically sold a kidney for and drove to Alabama to get from some guy who looked like he belonged to the hillbilly mafia? Junior year, and worth every fucking cent when Jeremy told him about the SQUIP glitching out like a Bethesda game.

Weighted blanket? Joint present from him and Mr. Heere after seeing Jeremy toss and turn freshman year of college.

So yeah, his options are dwindling.

He could just propose. That’d be pretty impressive.

Michael thunks his head against the desk, because if he’s considering proposing to Jeremy just to get out of finding a good enough gift, then he’s at a serious loss. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just he wants to do it right, when they’re out of school and living in an apartment not owned by the Orwellian college campus, and when Michael can afford real rings, because while Jeremy would probably faint from joy if Michael pulled out a ring pop in the middle of a Costco, he deserves better than Michael half-assing it. Jeremy deserves Michael’s whole ass, and nothing less. It can wait for the swirling void of post-educational life.

He groans loudly into the wood, and a few moments later, the creak of the threshold tells him that Jeremy has been successfully summoned.

“Dude, you okay? Are you, uh, writing an essay or something?”

Michael shifts and blearily cracks his eye open to look at Jeremy, who’s standing in the door with two cup of tea in his hands, and alright, he’s done. Ended. Finished with this whole guessing game thing. Might as well give up on perfect subtlety- his pride might be damaged, but at least Jeremy will get something he wants, even if Michael’s reputation of finding Jeremy gifts he didn’t know he wanted until they were in his hands will be forever besmirched. “What do you want for your birthday?”

Jeremy blinks, walks in, and sets the glass of tea on the desk. “I don’t know. Happiness and success?”

“I’m already living with you Jeremy, I can’t give you something you already have,” Michael deadpans, and Jeremy chokes on his tea.

“Asshole.”

“Dork,” Michael says, sitting up so he can sip his cup- chamomile tea, practically a Heere specialty. “But seriously, what do you want? Try to go for non-metaphysical concepts this time. Think eminently doable. Like me.”

“Dick,” Jeremy says, then frowns, biting his lip. “Like, I’m not saying that your dick isn’t eminently doable, that kind of goes without saying, but like-” He sighs- “I’ll have to think about it, okay?”

Michael nods, pulls out his laptop to look over his notes from Monday, and pretty much forgets the entire exchange for the rest of the day. He goes to class, presents his code to a very tired professor, grabs some miso and chives from the dirt cheap Asian shop by the campus, gets home early enough to start cooking before Jeremy shows up, and doesn’t really think about it at all. His thoughts stay on other things, like “Why does C++ work like this?”, “I wish I spoke Japanese,” and “Owowowow FUCK, onion juice in the knife cut, ONION JUICE IN THE KNIFE CUT, MOTHER MARY OF GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS.” 

At least until dinner.

Michael’s sipping his soup, feeling like a cat in the cone of shame with his palm bandaged up in a fashion that can only be described as mummy-esque, when Jeremy speaks up.

“Hey, uh, Michael, I- uh, I think I want a gangbang? Or something?”

Much like earlier that day, Michael is distracted from his boyfriend, except this time it’s not by the Amazon Rainforest or classes, it’s by the block of tofu that he’s choking on. Jeremy gets up and dutifully thumps his back, and Michael coughs until he can breath again, because  _ Jesus Christ. _ “What?”

Jeremy waves his hands in some weird gesture that looks like mangled ASL. “I-I mean, for my birthday, if you’re, uh, okay with it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Michael says, because he feels like a shitty computer that’s lagging about two lifetimes behind reality right now. “You want a  _ what _ for your birthday?”

“I mean like… an orgy?” Jeremy shrugs, red faced, and picks at the hem of his cable knit sweater. “I uh… yeah, let’s forget this conversation ever happened, anyways this soup is great! Michael, love the soup, let’s talk about that, yeah. Soup.”

“You mean,” Michael looks at Jeremy, Jeremy who wouldn’t take off his shirt in public until they were two years into college, Jeremy who had a panic attack the first time they had sex, and picks his next words very carefully. “A multiple person orgy?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda in the definition,” Jeremy huffs, scratching at his arms. “Forget it.”

Michael blinks at his soup, staring into the udon like it’ll give him divine guidance from the gods of weaboo spaghetti. He feels like the divination teacher in Harry Potter, staring into tea leaves to see the future, except it’s cheap soup and the only thing he’s scrying is a vision of Jeremy getting fucked by several porn-star-esque men. It’s vivid enough to make his toes curl.

The Jeremy he looks up at has sat back down and has considerably more clothes on, but his flush is pretty much identical. He pokes at his bowl, not really eating any of it. 

“So, would I be… in this orgy?” Michael hazards. “Theoretically?”

“Yeah, uh, of course! You’re my boyfriend-best-friend-life-partner thing! And hot!” Jeremy sputters. “You think I wouldn’t want to be fucking you?”

Michael shrugs, trying to ignore the way something in his chest relaxes at the praise. “I’d hoped you want to, considering what we’ve been doing for the last, I don’t know, three years.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes at Michael, who just looks at him with a shit eating grin. “Yeah, yeah. We aren’t sleeping in separate beds and referring to each other as ‘significant other’, so we haven’t plowed this thing into the ground yet.”

“Plowed?” Jeremy says, deadpan save for his raised eyebrow, and somehow that’s just the fucking funniest thing, and Michael has no idea why. Probably shock. In the medical sense.

“Sorry, sorry,” He chokes out through the giggles. “It’s not you, it’s just- oh man, your face.”

“You’re just laughing at my face. I can feel confidence coursing through me,” Jeremy says, but he’s smiling. 

“I’m debonair as fuck,” Michael agrees. “Anyways, what brought this on?”

Jeremy shrugs, fidgeting with his hands a little. “I dunno. Just something I’ve always wanted to do, and uh. Obviously haven’t gotten to. Yet.”

“Yeah, if you managed to get into an orgy, I would never hear the end of it.”

Jeremy nods, conceding the point. “I just think it sounds fun, and uh, we’re in college so like? Dad said it was a time to experiment?”

“Didn’t your dad spend a year in college wandering around the alps? Lost?”

“Yeah, but I mean, the point still stands. Like, once we’re out of here, it’s like, we’ll be real adults.”

“And real adults can’t have weird birthday sex parties?”

“I don’t know. But like, we’ll be getting real jobs, and it’s going to be different, and then we’ll be adjusting again, and that’s scary. Like, I want to this now, while we’re just... happy.” Jeremy shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m not making any sense.”

“No, I get it. I’ll think about it, okay?” He says, and watches Jeremy’s face fall a fraction. “And like, not in a no way, in a I’m-seriously-considering-this way.”

Jeremy nods and pokes at his soup. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Michael smiles. “So, how’s class?”

That perks Jeremy up enough to start describing the exercise they did in his acting class, so the conversation moves on, and Michael thinks.

* * *

 

“So,” Michael says on Saturday night, carding his fingers through Jeremy’s hair. It’s getting long in the back, but the shampoo and conditioner Chloe gifted them for Michael’s birthday has kept it soft. It also makes them both smell like coconut, but that’s really a bonus considering how many dumb jokes they’ve made about “smelling like a couple of fruits.” “Theoretically, who would you want at this thing?”

Jeremy shifts under the weighted blanket, looking up at Michael from his lap. “So, uh, you thought about it?”

Michael shifts uncomfortably, because he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to admit how much he’s thought about it, riding home on the subway or in the comfort of a hot shower, since apparently his brain’s latched onto that particular image like a clamp. A shitty, gay clamp. “Yeah. But really, who’d you want?”

Jeremy shrugs, his shoulders bumping Michael’s thigh. “I dunno, our friends? I’m not sure who else you think I’d get naked in front of.”

“Ethan Slater, Laura Dreyfuss and Simba the Lion,” Michael says immediately, and Jeremy glares up at him.

“I wouldn’t just strip in front of- of any of those people! Or lions! I wouldn’t get naked in front of a lion, it would eat my dick!”

“You wish,” Michael coughs, and Jeremy reaches up and smacks him lightly across the cheek. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Michael laughs and scratches gently at Jeremy’s scalp in apology, smiling at how he sighs softly and relaxes. “But really, like, college friends or work friends or the squad or what?”

Jeremy pauses, biting his lip. “The squad, just because they’re-” He waves his hands, frowning- “I mean, they- I just… trust them. To be good to us, and not make fun of me- or you- or think I’m gross or-”

“Jeremy, you’re not gross,” Michael says, taking one of his hands and massaging little circles into it. “I’m just glad you meant our actual friends, because like, I’m not getting naked with Jordan Buscemi. He’s an asshole.”

Jeremy pulls a face. “Yeah, no. He keeps dumping me with his shifts, and I don’t care how big his biceps are, he’s a fucking dick.”

Michael hums in agreement. “So, um, anyone in particular?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy shrugs. “I mean, I’d only invite them if you were comfortable with like, stuff, so uh, are you?”

Michael bites his lip, because well, oddly enough, he kinda is. The idea of hunting down some hot, faceless strangers for a night and laying in bed and trusting them with well, everything they have, terrifies him. Even the idea of gathering up the folks from their DnD group makes his palms go sweaty, and they spend three nights a week crying over their dumb gay OCs. But the squad’s different.

He guesses that they always have been, considering that they only become friends because of an evil robot drug hivemind, which tends to set some interesting standards in a relationship. That, and well-

He trusts them. 

He trusts them in a way that he thought he could only feel with Jeremy, something he thought was exclusive to them for twelve whole years. But then Brooke and Jake and Rich and Christine and Chloe and Jenna swept into their lives, riding a wave of nanotechnology and Mountain Dew Red, and something changed. When he thinks back to curling up next to Rich with a bowl of Doritos between them at a cast party, or lazy afternoons spent braiding Brooke and Jenna’s hair, it calms him. 

Maybe that’s why he nods.

(That, and all of their friends are smoking hot and not in a sexy nerd way. Like, in actually could be modeling way, because eye candy is one of the lesser known benefits of hooking up with the popular kids.)

“Really?”

“Depends who, I guess,” Michael says, shrugging. “How about Rich?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, brightening. “I think out of everyone, he’s the most likely to show up.”

“Are he and Jake, like, exclusive?”

Jeremy snorts. “Not by the three am texts I’ve gotten, Christ.”

“Wait, Rich sends you texts about his weird swinging thing?” Michael asks, feeling a little offended. “Why doesn’t do that with me?”

“My nickname is higher in his contacts list. I mean, ‘Furlord’ comes before ‘Retro-hoe,’ alphabetically.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Michael pulls out his phone, opens a new text document, and takes down Rich’s name. “Okay, so, are we gonna break up the happy couple or…?”

“Nah, Jake can come too,” Jeremy says. “I mean, he’s the only person who knows how to throw like, any kind of party, so we can’t really pass him up.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “And like, some part of me wants to be able to say I fucked the most popular guy in school at the high school reunion we’ll never go to. Aside from spite. Do you want to go to a reunion just to flip everyone off?”

“Hmm. I’ll get back to you on that,” Jeremy says, shrugging. “Besides like, he’s got really good abs?”

“I know, right? It’s like a fucking cheese grater down there,” Michael says, and he can’t help his smile. “I’m going to bring a piece of cheddar and just like-”

He makes some sort of grating motion, and laughs. “So, is that it?”

“Well, actually,” Jeremy says, and sits up, steepling his fingers. “I know you’re gay, but like… could this be like, an equal opportunity thing?”

“You mean with like, Christine?”

“Y-yeah.” Jeremy nods. “Is she okay?”

Michael’s never been one for jealousy, especially not with Christine, and especially especially not with the way things are now. Jeremy and her may have had a real high school sweethearts thing before she went off to some prodigious acting school, but that doesn’t matter, because she’s not the person Jeremy comes home to everyday, or cooks dinner with, or lies with in  bed on lazy Sunday mornings. Besides, it’s not like she’s going to try and steal him away or something.

He nods. 

“How about Brooke and Chloe?” Michael asks, trying to ignore the vague, anxious feeling crawling up his spine, because even if things are good now, if amends have been made, he isn’t crazy about bringing Chloe in on this. Still, he doesn’t get to decide if she’s forgiven, and if Jeremy wants it, then he’ll put aside the grudge. “Do you want them to come?”

“I, I...” Jeremy says, trails off, swallows and starts again. “Things are complicated, and I- I really hurt Brooke and Chloe, she-”

Jeremy lets out a long breath, steadying himself, and Michael pulls his hands away slowly, just in case. After a long moment, Jeremy speaks, a little strained. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m ready for that. Yet.”

“Hey,” Michael says, slowly wrapping an arm around Jeremy. “That’s fine. It’s not like you owe them sex or something. If you’re not comfortable with it, you don’t have to. Ever.”

“I know,” Jeremy huffs, and leans his head on Michael’s shoulder. “I just like, should be over it. It’s dumb.”

Michael shrugs, because pushing the matter’s just going to drive Jeremy up the wall and he’ll start talking about how it’s  _ ‘been five years’ _ and  _ ‘she’s my friend’ _ and that’s just going to make them both sad for different reasons.

“So, anyways, is that it?” Michael asks. Three people. That’s daunting, but not the end of the world.

“I was thinking maybe Jenna too?”

“Jeremy, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve never seen Jenna express interest in  _ anyone _ . I’m pretty sure she’s ace.”

“I guess. I think we should ask anyways.” Jeremy leans his head back against the couch, smiling a little. “She likes to feel included, you know?”

Fair enough. “I’m assuming we’re checking phones at the door then?”

Jeremy snorts, then sighs. “She wouldn’t.”

“I know, I know,” Michael says, adding her to the list. “I’ll take care of it, if that’s good with you?”

Jeremy pulls away a little and blinks at him. “So we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Michael says with more conviction than he really thought he had. “I mean, who am I to deny my boyfriend life’s simple pleasures, like fucking four other people at once?”

“I mean, with you there, it’s gonna be five.”

“Look, once you get above three people, I think the actual number starts to matter less. It’s like, exponential decay? Or something?” Michael frowns, trying to graph out  _ How Number of Participants Affects Sex _ on imaginary X and Y axises, and gives up after a few seconds. “I’ll call everyone tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can do it if you want-”

Michael leans in and kisses Jeremy, sweet and soft. He smiles at him as he pulls away, admiring the light flush on Jeremy’s cheeks. “Hey, it’s your birthday, and this is my present. Just relax.”

“Michael-”

“C’mon dude. I spent the last month watching you lose sleep over your exams. You deserve not to worry about this.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy smiles, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Whisk me off my feet, or whatever.”

“Jeremy, with four other people, forget the whisking, we could just get a palanquin,” Michael laughs. “Don’t worry, for once. I’ll take care of logistics.”

It’s the right thing to say, judging by how Jeremy pulls him in by his shirt collar and kisses him. It’s also how Michael ends up sitting in the living room at nine pm the next night, trying to gear himself up for the biggest mistake of his life. Well, one of the biggest mistakes.

The whole loving speech thing seems like a worse idea with every minute he spends staring at the Discord webpage. He’d forgotten how much of the sudden desire to plan was rooted in nerves and worry, and now it’s hitting him like a train. Michael swallows nervously, finger over the enter key. He’s standing on the edge of a cliff. On one side, him and Jeremy, on the other, his friends and some sort of three- no, it’s more of a moresome. In the chasm? Dick related shame for the rest of his life. Maybe a restraining order. 

Now that he thinks about it, this cliff is less of a cliff and more of a precipice. A penispice.

Michael sighs, reminds himself of Jeremy in the other room, pretending he isn’t listening in behind his text book, and creates the private channel.

Jake, Rich, Jenna and Christine’s usernames pop into the chat room, a line of green online symbols next to their icons, and Michael can already feel his nerves trying to choke him.

**JakeyD** **: Yooooo**

**Dickard** **: Hey babe, what’s up?**

**ShakespeareDidntDieForThis** **: Owo what’s this?**

**JellyRoll** **: Chris, no.**

Best to get this over fast, before he can actually think this through and realize what a bad idea it is. Michael cracks his knuckles and set his fingers on the keyboard.

**MichaelHell** **: Esteemed ladies and gentlemen, I’ve gathered you here tonight for one thing.**

Michael’s glad that text hides the way his fingers are shaking as he clicks the server settings and changes the title of the channel. 

**_[Several people are typing…]_ **

No messages have popped up yet, and the little white dots are blinking, and Michael can’t take watching and waiting, so he swings his swivel chair around so he doesn’t have to look, a cold sweat on the back of his neck. 

Deep breaths, Michael. They probably don’t hate you.

Probably.

Michael practically jumps out of his seat at the loud swishing noise from the computer and the sudden buzz of audio static and-

“Michael, why is the name of the chat  **_Equal Opportunity Jeremy Heere Fucking: Help Wanted_ ** ?!” Christine shouts, and Michael winces and digs his nails in his jeans, because ow, loud.

Count to eight, and out. Count to eight, and out.

“Michael, homeslice! How’s it hanging?”

They probably don’t hate you.

“Jake, did you even notice the chat name?”

“Huh, just like Craigslist. Good one,” Jake says, and the slow shuffle as Michael turns his chair back to the screen (and the microphone) feels like a walk of shame.

“Actually, um,” He laughs, because holy shit, what has his life come to? “It’s, um, not a joke?”

Christine is saying something very fast and very loudly, but Michael can’t make it out through whatever Jenna and Rich and Jake are going on about. “Guys, I can’t hear you-”

“Everyone, he can’t hear us!” Christine shouts, deafening everyone, and Michael winces as mic feedback bounces around the call.

There’s a collective groan at the noise, and Michael sighs. “Look, can I just explain?”

“Mikey, dude, you want us to bang your boyf. Not really sure how much context I need for that.”

“Rich, please,” Jenna says. “I’m interested.”

“In what, the banging or the story?” Jake asks, laughing a little.

“Eh, both?”

“Wait a second, I thought you were ace?” Michael asks, and no, he’s not stalling, really. “You had the flag on your backpack all of senior year and stuff.”

“Nope,” She replies, popping the P. “The green one’s  _ aromantic _ , dude, trust me- otherwise I have been the  _ worst _ at asexuality.”

“Huh.”

“Mhmm,” She hums. “So anyways, you want us to do _ what  _ to Jeremy?”

“Okay, so, uh.” Michael swallows anxiously. “Look, so I was asking Jeremy what he wanted for his birthday, and then Jeremy said he wanted some kind of orgy thing-” Someone wolf whistles, and Michael tries and fails to resist the urge to roll his eyes- “And I started choking-”

“Are you okay? Michael?!”

“I’m fine, Christine, I just thought he meant a bunch of people who we didn’t know, and then we talked about it, and we agreed on you guys and now we’re here.”

“Okay, so when do you want us to be there?” Jake asks, and Michael does a double take.

“That’s it. You’re just… good to go on this? No questions?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Jake says. “You can’t see it, but Rich is nodding.”

“I am.”  

Michael stares at the screen for a long moment. “Seriously?”

“Do you want us to come over or not?”

“Yeah, we do!” Michael says quickly, letting out a breath he didn’t really know he was holding. “I’ll email you guys?”

“Send it to me too, okay?” Christine says. “Like it sounds exciting? I’ve never really done anything like this before, and it’ll be great seeing you guys? I mean, I’d see you for Jeremy’s birthday either way, but like? This is special?” She huffs. “I don’t know, but if I’d do this, it’d be with you! So I am!”

“Shit, how am I supposed say no to that?” Jenna says, sounding as weirdly touched as Michael feels. “So, Michael, do you want me to bring anything? Music, drinks, dildos, food-”

“What?!”

“Michael,” Jenna says gently. “I’ve been to your house. You and Jeremy eat like, two fries each. You don’t have enough food for six people.”

“I was more taking issue with the sex toys thing!”

“Huh.” Michael can practically see her with her hand on her chin, thinking. “ _ Do _ you have enough dildos for six people?”

“Jenna!” Michael says over Rich’s distant cackling and Christine’s giggles. “No!”

“Look, I don’t know how you live your sex lives, and I’m just saying, if we each bring our own- and sanitize them first, obviously- then this is going to be a lot easier.”

“I dunno,” Jake says. “I could just buy some.”

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jake, I’m not letting you spend three hundred dollars on dicks for my boyfriend’s birthday party. No.”

“Can I at least buy dick shaped balloons? The ones from Spencer’s?”

“Seriously?”

“Michael, what’s the point of inheriting your parents’ illegally gotten fortune if you can’t buy your friends overpriced bachelor party merchandise?” Jake asks. “Besides, they’re hot pink.”

Well, he can’t argue with that. “Okay, fine.”

There’s the distant sound of Jake and Rich high fiving. Michael buries his head in his hands. “Look, just bring condoms. Like, get tested first, but bring them anyways. And clean everything first. Is that cool?”

A chorus of agreement goes up and Jenna practically shouts “Fuck yes!”

Michael feels a distinct sense of trepidation, because that may be the most emotion he’s ever heard from her. 

“Jesus Christ, Jenny,” Rich snorts. “Someone’s excited. What are you bringing?” 

“It’s rude to ask about birthday presents, Rich,” Jenna says loftily, and Michael can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“C’mon, let me guess?”

“Rich, I’m not telling.”

“Monogrammed paddles.”

“Nope.”

“Glow in the dark vibrator.”

“No cigar.”

“Two foot long horse dick?”

“What?!”

“Jenna, you’re my best friend, and I love and support you in, like, everything you do,” Christine says gently, “But please don’t bring a horse penis! I mean, that’d be a little bit weird, y’know?”

“I don’t own a-”

“Yeah, two feet of horse dong is two feet too many for this relationship,” Michael agrees. “Sorry.”

“Look, if anyone has a two foot long horse dick, it’s Jeremy!”

Michael hears the distinct noise of someone doing a spit take from the other room. “I DO NOT!”

“Hi Jeremy! Do you want me to bring cookies?” Christine chirps, and Jeremy groans.

“Take that as yes.” Michael sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I mean, I guess some food couldn’t hurt. Or just like, ten bucks for pizza. Just, don’t bring any alcohol. Please.”

He can hear Christine giggle and clap her hands. “I love potlucks! Yes!”

“Wait a second. Guys.”

Michael blinks, and there's a long second before Rich speaks again.

“Holy shit,” He says, sounding slightly awed. “Oh my god, you guys, it’s a  _ potfuck. _ ”

“We’re not calling it that,” Jenna cuts in. “No.”

“Come on, Jenny, it’s  _ evocative.” _

“Rich, I can feel every erection I’ll ever have dying before they’ve ever even lived,” Michael says, resisting the urge to thud his head into the desk. “You’ve like, performed some kind of time traveling boner abortion on every hard on I could ever have. You monster.”

“Yeah, well your face kills every fucking boner I’ve ever had!”

“Then why’d you just agree to have sex with me?!”

Things sort of dissolve into good natured bantering from there, the kind that drags a group phone call out until half past midnight, and then another hour of misspelled text messages after they hang up.

Michael shuts off the computer at an unholy hour and pads out to their tiny living room/kitchen hybrid to dump his empty water glass in the sink. Jeremy’s still on the couch, slumped against the arm rest. His book’s fallen onto the floor, spine up, and his face is squashed into the upholstery, mouth slack like the unlucky residents of a fish market.

Michael smiles, and gently pats his cheek. Jeremy whines into the sofa, and cracks open a bleary eye before sitting up. “Michael.”

Well, it’s less of a “Michael” and more of a groggy “Mc… hall…”, but that’s close enough. He reaches out a hand, and Jeremy takes it, letting Michael pull him up. Sighing, he slips his arm around Jeremy’s waist in a sort of mock carry, and gently pushes him into the bathroom to brush his teeth, because he’s not going to put up with Jeremy’s morning breath if he doesn’t have to.

After a few minutes of waiting and staring at the wall in the dark, the door cracks open and Jeremy ambles in to collapse next to him on the weird, bungee-corded together fusion of their two dorm beds, thankfully not falling through the crack between them. Again.

* * *

He’s tired the next morning, but determination keeps him awake through his eight AM class as he fiddles with C++ and ways this could all go down.

Finding  _ people _ for this thing was unexpectedly easy, but finding a place that can fit six people and a really fucking big bed is actually pretty difficult

Their dorm room, with its unholy hybrid of cots, months ago disassembled and pushed together into the world’s crappiest queen sized bed, is completely out of the question. Christine gets  _ loud _ , and Michael has to  _ live _ here. He can do without the other tenants whispering about his sex life.

Add in the fact that they live on the outskirts of New York, which means even the tiniest, shittiest cockroach motel room is going to be enough to bankrupt them, and Michael’s headache has spread its wings and really come into its own as a full blown migraine.

Michael sighs and sips from his water bottle, popping an advil. The lecturer at the front of the room is still going on about data structures, and Michael’s listening, he swears, even taking a few half assed notes, but that’s sort of in the background. He’s got about eight tabs worth of hotels and Groupons open next to his notes, and he’s clicking through them in sort of a nervous haze. Every page he sees of some four hundred dollar hotel room booked until Easter makes his blood pressure rise, and he finally sighs and clicks back to the comic sans monstrosity that is his notes.

It sucks that Jake’s house burnt down. It’d be perfect for this, with the cavernous living room and nice big showers and the squashy California King in his parents room and-

Michael swallows. He feels bad Jake’s house burn down, that he had to spend the rest of high school in between relatives and hotels, but privately he’s a little thankful the McMansion is gone. There’s too many bad memories wrapped up in that house, and the last thing Jeremy needs is Michael having a panic attack during his weird sexy birthday party.

More importantly, Jeremy doesn’t need a panic attack during his own birthday.

Michael shakes his head and tries not to think about what Jeremy told him happened in that house. He could just get his moms out of their home for a day or two, drive back to Metuchen, and then sanitize the whole place afterwards. Hell, Jeremy’s house would probably work too, and with one less parent to boot.

It’s the easy route, the tempting route, and Michael sighs, because he knows he’s not going to take it. He’s never been good at taking the simple road when it comes to Jeremy, but that’s probably why they’re good for each other, why they’ve made things work for this long. Jeremy makes Michael want to try and do more than drift through life, and usually succeeds in getting him to put real effort into things that aren’t weird niche interests, and Michael keeps Jeremy from pushing too hard, reminds him that sometimes it’s okay to just survive.

It’s their system, and it works, and right now it’s keeping Michael from thinking up a good enough excuse to get his family out of the house for, well, how ever long orgies last. He’s still a little hazy on that part.

Michael rubs his face, like that’ll make all the really good ideas come to the surface. He doesn’t really want to give up on finding a hotel. Jeremy deserves, well, the best, and something possessive in him balks at the idea of them doing this in either of their own homes. Jenna, Rich, Jake and Christine may get to watch Jeremy come undone for one night, gasping into someone else’s sheets, but Michael’s the only one who’ll ever get to know what he looks like on late nights in his basement, head lolled back on the bean bag, bruised throat painted in light from the TV as Michael thrusts into him, sweet and slow enough to make him beg. That’s theirs, and this can’t- won’t- take that away from them.

He stares at the hotel bookings for another minute, sighs, and types in a new town to look through. He’s not crazy about heading out of New York, especially because that means that Jenna will have to drive Christine even further from JFK, but it’s better than nothing. He sifts through the listings a little more, and hey- A hundred and seventy for two queen sized beds. That’s not really what he had in mind, but fuck it, they’re less than a week out, and there’s only so late you can find a reservation. 

He sighs, enters his debit number, and requests extra towels.

* * *

 

The thing is, Michael sort of expected things to get easier once the basics were set in stone- no more stressing about the who, what and when, and more imagining the pleasant possibilities of how, usually with a hand down his pants.

Except he’s Michael fucking Mell, so of course lazy fantasizing has turned to thinking has turned to overthinking, and the realization that he’s trying to coordinate the bedroom equivalent of three dimensional chess.

If there were things that could go wrong the first time he and Jeremy had sex- and good god, they sure did- then that list has been at least tripled- no,  _ cubed _ , and Michael can feel the possibilities of everything from broken penises to someone from the staff knocking on the door and finding out about the flesh tetris going on in their poor, poor hotel room looming over him like an ominous, phallic shadow.

But then again, he’s Michael fucking Mell, who’s going to be Michael fucking his best friends in about three days, so he does what he’s always done in the face of stress and confusion.

He researches.

He binge reads every article he can find, filters through blog posts and bad ‘sexy’ stories and opens enough tabs that his computer freezes. He reads through every post on kink and group sex, even the stuff that he’s seen before, and takes notes on poorly done amateur porn from the eighties in neat bullet points, because he may not be able to make sure everything goes well, but he’s at least going to be ready if something doesn’t. 

He hasn’t done this much research since the Squip, if he’s being honest. At least this time, he’s doing it because he wants to, instead of because of a looming threat to the human race and stuff. Even better, he hasn’t had to redownload Tor to do it. Michael has had enough of the Deep Web to last a lifetime.

It’s a little calming, looking through articles and knowing that even if this is his first time trying any of this, that at least he’s not the first in the history of sex, and that it actually can work out.

Michael then takes that confidence, and his pile of chicken scratch notes, and tabulates.

He’s got about a million documents shared with everyone to dictate and discuss what everyone’s bringing, what’s off limits, negative results from Planned Parenthood, various kinks and pretty much everything else he can write down, everything double and triple checked by everyone, especially Jeremy. He may have gotten a little overzealous with the spreadsheets, but at least he feels like he’s got some control over things. It’s easier to deal with the trainwreck he’s gotten himself into when it’s neatly set out in rows and columns. 

The night before everything’s set to go down, he slides into bed and lets Jeremy curl around him, holding him close. He even gets to sleep fairly early instead of clicking between his notes like he’s studying for the SATs of fucking.

Everything’s neatly quantified.

Everything’s going to be fine.

Jeremy’s palm is sweaty in Michael’s hand, but he’s grinning under the blindfold as Michael leads him down the hall of the hotel. It’s as nice as the listing said, all bronze sconces and fancy carpeting, and Michael feels a surge of pride over the fact that his hard work has paid off.

They stop at the door to their room. Michael flicks out the keycard, and his hands are almost shaking with excitement, because after all the planning and waiting and coordinating, Jeremy’s finally going to get to see what he’s made. It’s like he’s got a drawing to show him, and Michael is pretty sure it’s going straight on the fridge, but instead of it being like, a portrait or something, that drawing is porn. 

The door gives a little click, and Michael bows low, waving Jeremy inside. He follows in, and-

Well, the hotel has stopped looking like the listing. It’s not the worst place he’s ever slept in, but with the peeling wall paper, rumpled sheets and chipped desk that he just  _ knows _ is from Ikea, it’s just not good enough.

Jeremy seems to agree, judging by the way his forehead is crinkled. He’s wearing his “I’m disappointed but I’m also too nice to comment on it” face, which is somehow worse than outright disgust.

“I- um,” Michael says, pursing his lips. “Jeremy, I’m sorry, the listing looked better than this and-” He lets out a long breath, feeling the air between his teeth. “I fucked up. I’m so sorry.”

Jeremy nods stiffly, not looking at him.

“Hey, I mean, at least we have lube, huh?” Michael picks up complimentary bottle of lotion, desperate for for something to do to hide the fact that everything’s coming apart at the seams, and squeezes a dollop of cream into his palm except that’s not lotion it’s-

Michael flails as spiders pour out of the bottle. It shatters on the floor into a million fragments porcelain, but that doesn’t help, because there are even more crawling out of the shards, each one with too many eyes and teeth and long, hairy legs.

He falls on his ass and hears the disgusting crack and squish of crushed spiders, but they keep coming. Michael scrambles back, and looks up, and holy fuck, Keanu Reeves is standing in front of them, electricity lacing off of him as he advances. Michael reaches for Jeremy,  _ because no, not again,  _ but he’s not there,  _ where the fuck is Jeremy- _

Michael’s back hits the peeling wall, and the SQUIP grins, eyes flashing an unnatural blue, and Michael can just imagine that face whispering in Jeremy’s ear, hurting him, hurting them. 

He feels dwarfed by it, powerless as it slips a hand under his chin, appraising. Michael wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he can’t look away.

“ **_Hey Paesanos, it’s the Super Mario Brother’s Show!”_ **

The whiplash of those words coming out of its mouth is enough to make Michael stop and blink, and then his eyes are opening and he’s awake and staring at the bedroom wall, confused. His phone’s blinking and vibrating on the nightstand.

_ “We’re the Mario Brothers, and plumbing is our game!”  _ It jingles, the tinny ringtone loud in the dark room.  _ “If your sink is in trouble, you can call us on the double, we're faster than the others, you'll be hooked on the Brothers!” _

Groaning, he sits up, wiggling out of Jeremy’s vice grip, and picks it up. He sighs and rubs at his temples, because he’s had nightmares and anxiety dreams before, but that one pretty much took the cake for weird shit. “This is Michael Mell. It’s three AM. What do you want?”

“Mikey!” says Rich’s voice, entirely too sunny and too fucking loud. Michael cups his hand over the speaker on reflex, wincing. “So man, the one stop train to fucking your boyfriend has hit a snag in the metaphorical rail. And by metaphorical, I mean literal."

Michael blinks, feeling anxiety slowly well up, because of fucking course something had to go wrong. He wipes his hand over his face, trying to rub away the sleep. “Okay.”

“Eh, it’s a little bit less than okay?” Rich chirps, a little muffled. “By literal, I mean we hit a train.”

Michael very calmly sets his phone down next to him, very calmly grabs his pillow, and then very calmly proceeds to scream into it.

“I mean, Jake didn’t break his legs  _ again _ or anything, so like, it’s gucci. I mean, even if he did, we’d still be coming, except I don’t really know how Jeremy feels about riding cowgirl- cowboy?- anyways, our car’s officially in the shop.”

Michael takes a deep breath, then keeps screaming because this is fine,  _ everything’s fine. _

“Mikey, are you there? Michael-”

There’s the noise of distant shouting and scuffling over the line as Michael sets the pillow down, feeling no less stressed. “Rich, I swear to fuck.”

“Actually, this is Jake, dude,” He says, and laughs a little. “So like, we’re safe, and we’re at the mechanic’s, but our car’s really busted up. I hate to ask this, but do you think you and Jeremy could pick us up?”

Michael exhales through his nose in something between contempt and resignation, because he already knows what the answer’s going to be. “Yeah. Fine. Where are you?”

“Levittown-ish? I’ll text the address. We’ll pay for the turnpike.”

“Jesus Christ,” Michael sighs, and gently shakes Jeremy’s shoulder. “Hey, Miah?”

After a moment, Jeremy sits up in bed, curly hair fluffed out in a halo. “Was der fuck, Michael?”

“English, dude,” Michael says, patting his cheek. Jeremy blinks at him blearily, unimpressed. “Rich and Jake crashed their car and need a lift.”

“We’re not just making them take an Uber?”

“Jeremy, I’m fucking wounded,” Shouts Rich from the phone. “You’d abandon us to your German carpool? You monster.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m going out to pick them up in, um, Levittown.”

“You guys got stuck in Levittown? Christ.”

“Mhmm.” Michael stands, the phone resting in the crook of his neck as he shimmies into yesterday’s jeans. “Do you wanna come?”

Jeremy looks at Michael, then the phone, and sighs, stretching. “Sure. Pass me some pants.”

Michael nods and digs through the bureau, which is an unholy mix of chaos and perfectly folded clothing from whenever Jeremy decides to stress clean. He stares at a pair of Jeremy’s skinny jeans, weighing the pros and cons of Jeremy’s ass looking fantastic versus subtly dissing Rich and Jake for hauling them out of bed at this hour. He shrugs and throws Jeremy a pair of sweatpants that adequately shows his disdain, because really,  _ a train? _ , and gets to work yanking on his battered and bruised red hoodie, which at this point is more patches than fabric, and his comfiest, most worn in sneakers.

Jeremy follows him out the the door and down to the student lot, dragging his heels like a half-comatose cocker spaniel, and considering Michael spent a week at his bedside watching the feeding tube and IV drip after the play, it’s pretty much an apt description. He flumps into the shotgun seat, and Michael clicks up the heat enough that the car stops feeling like a meat locker.

“So, Levittown?” Jeremy says, stretching like a cat. “Didn’t your Mom drag us there for a carnival once, or something?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, pulling out of the lot. Thankfully the rain from yesterday cleared up- he’s always hated the sound of the windshield wipers on glass, and it’s not like he needs a harder time seeing the road. “Didn’t you win me that plushie of Flounder there, the one with the eye sewn in sideways?”

Jeremy doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “Oh yeah… You named him Jamie and took him in for show and tell that time in fourth grade. Where’d he go?”

“I um, lost him at the park?” Michael says, feeling irrationally guilty. “I threw him into a tree, and he um… never came back down.”

Michael expects Jeremy to laugh or play up some mock anger at his betrayal, but there’s just silence. He glances over, and Jeremy’s staring out the window at the streetlights flicking by. 

“Dude?” Michael asks gently, nudging his shoulder. “You still with me?”

“Yah- yeah, I’m awake, I’m awake,” Jeremy says, leaning forward and rubbing his face. “Just resting my eyes.”

“You know, you could just sleep,” Michael says, merging into the left-most lane. “We’ve still got an hour to go.”

Jeremy gives him a doubtful look. “You just want me to get enough sleep so that you can make me drive the way back, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much.”

“You’re not even going to make Rich do it?”

“Rich just crashed Jake’s car into a fucking  _ train. _ He doesn’t even get to sit in the front seat.”

Jeremy laughs a little, that weird sort of wheezy giggle that Michael’s come to love, and leans his head back against the ratty, duck-taped head rest. “Fine, fine. Just wake me up before you cuss Rich out.”

“Sure, sure.” Michael says, reaching over and ruffling Jeremy’s hair.

“Eyes on the road!”

Michael hums and puts both hands safely on the steering wheel. The Jersey Turnpike is a labyrinth on par with Minos’s maze, a seemingly endless, perfectly flat tangle of four lane highways and too many toll booths, but Michael’s got a GPS and a good twenty one years of New Jersey experience as his ball of string, so it’s easy to plug in his aux and listen to music as he passes the Volkswagen in front of them. Driving at night’s never been too much of a problem for him, so he occasionally lets himself glance at Jeremy, who spends the ride blinking at the ceiling in silence until blinking turns into half lidded staring and then dozing, shut eyes.

Jeremy wakes up again when they turn off the highway and onto the local roads, stirred by the mechanical voice of Siri. Michael pulls into a half-dead strip mall parking lot, parks the car, and gets out so he can glare at Jake and Rich through the foggy windows of the car shop.

They don’t turn around to see him, so Michael just locks his car, locks his jaw and walks in, Jeremy trailing after him.

The door rings with the too-chipper chime of an automated bell, and a man with tired eyes and an ugly company tee shirt glances at them. “Are these yours?”

Michael sighs, looks at Rich, with his hair still gelled up like a cock’s comb, and Jake, who’s passing his cane from hand to hand, and nods. This must be what it’s like bailing someone out of jail. “Yeah. Get in the car, you two.”

“Hah!” Rich shouts, beaming. “My harem has arrived!”

Jeremy makes a strangled noise halfway between a squeaky door and a curse, and Jake just rolls his eyes affectionately. “Actually, bro, I think we’re  _ Jeremy’s  _ harem.”

“Oh dear,” Rich cries in his most obnoxious falsetto and strikes a pose. “How can I let you see me like this- without nipple clamps or edible panties- it’s fucking indecent!”

Michael glances at the man behind the counter, worried, but he doesn’t even seem phased. Michael’s seen that look before- this is a man who has lost a worrying number of fucks to give. “I, um, we’re just gonna take them.”

He sighs in relief the moment they’re out of the door, social interaction successfully truncated. “How the hell did you even hit a fucking train? Aren’t there signs?”

Rich shrugs, looking guilty. “We were taking the backroads, and I guess someone fucked up the fence?”

“Backroads? Who the hell takes back roads in New Jersey in the middle of the night?!” Jake points to himself and opens his mouth to say something, and Michael waves his hands in sheer exasperation. “How did you not see the train?!”

“Well, to be fair, that  _ was _ a pretty big deer,” Rich says diplomatically, and purses his lips in thought. “No idea how it got covered in glow in the dark paint though.”

Michael looks at Jake and Rich, and decides that he’s officially Too Tired For This Shit, opens the passenger side door, and makes the educated decision to fall asleep. Or at least pretend, occasionally piping up to congratulate Rich on how his hand’s healing up from the latest surgery or make snarky comments whenever there’s a lull in Rich and Jake’s conversation. Eventually, even that peters out, probably because Rich and Jake are kissing in the back seat.

Michael kind of envies them, but Jeremy is anxious enough about driving already, and he’s not going to kill his boyfriend in a fiery car crash two days- one day? It’s technically the twelfth, according to his phone- before his birthday.

If he’s being honest, he passes out somewhere over the Basilone bridge, eyes slipping shut to the gentle buzz of Jeremy’s voice as he hums along to the radio. He doesn’t even remember getting home and going back to bed.

* * *

Michael wakes up on January twelfth buzzing with anxious energy. He glances at the clock- oh god, it’s already noon- slides out of bed, pulls the covers back over Jeremy, and pads out the kitchen, where Rich and Jake are already up.

“We used the coffee maker, is that okay?” Jake asks, sipping at his mug.

Michael shrugs and peers into the big mixing bowl that Rich is stirring. “Yeah, so long as you made enough coffee for everyone. What’re you making?”

“Waffles- those are tall-ass’s favourite, right?” Rich says, lifting the spoon out of the bowl so the batter drips off it in globs. “Also, you’re out of salt. And baking powder.”

“Fine, and um, yeah,” Michael says, rummaging in the fridge for the heavy cream. “I’ll make the whipped cream- lemme see, the iron is on bottom drawer, yeah, there.”

“Thanks,” Rich says, setting the waffle iron down on the tiny patch of counter that isn’t taken up by the microwave or the toaster. “Just gotta get some butter.”

Rich pulls the stick out of the fridge and starts smearing it over the iron’s plates, and Michael tries to focus on the cream, but it’s fucking whipped cream. There’s not a lot to fixate on, considering it has a grand total of three ingredients. He’s almost tempted to say fuck it and make a pot of compote or caramel or something that requires a little more TLC, just so that he doesn’t have the chance to focus on everything that could go wrong (Staff kick them out of the hotel, someone forgets a safeword, no one can get it up-)

“Yo dude, you okay?” Jake’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and Michael turns to see Jake rolling his cane between his fingers. “That shit’s gotta be halfway to butter.”

“I um… yeah.” Michael says, poking at the stiff peaks. Jake’s right, he could probably invert the bowl and no cream would fall out. “Just thinking.”

“Nerves?” Jake smiles a little indulgently. “It’s chill, man. The first time I did one of these things, I was sooo stressed, like holy shit.”

“He was,” Rich agrees, setting the first waffle on a plate and pouring another. “He kept on asking if everything was okay, and like, I was like, dude, she’s not gonna care what specific brand of lube we got, so long as it’s not shit.”

“I mean, how dare I be a caring and sensitive lover. Fuck you,” Jake says without malice.

“Christ Jake, we’re not even at the hotel yet.” Rich bats his lashes obnoxiously. “Scandalous.”

“You two are awful,” Michael mutters, and pours himself a cup of coffee, dumping two teaspoons of sugar into it. Even if the stress kills him, at least the combined might of caffeine and sugar will revive him. “You deserve each other.”

“Awww, see, he does love us!” Rich coos, and sighs. “I mean, I don’t really get to talk. The Squip had to fuck with my adrenaline the first time, I was that freaked out. You two have miles on me.”

Michael’s throat feels tight all of a sudden. “Oh.”

“Yeah… Intravenous floppy disks are kind of a boner killer, huh?” Rich says bitterly, running his finger around the rim of his mug. He sighs. “Sorry about ruining the mood.”

Michael sets his coffee down and puts a hand on Rich’s shoulder. He can feel where the skin goes rough and scarred under his tee shirt. “No, it’s fine. How are you doing with that asshole, anyway?”

“Eh, fine. I think the X-ray they gave me a while back really fucked with the hardware or something, so he’s really been on the fritz.” Rich smiles, and glances at Jake, and Michael watches the way their eyes meet, soft and fond. “I’m good. I’m really, really fucking good.”

There’s a long, comfortable moment of quiet, just Rich and Jake smiling at eachother dopily and Michael wondering if him moving to keep the waffle from burning would ruin the moment.

“Hey guys,” Jeremy says, appearing in the doorframe. “Are those waffles?”

“Yes actually!” Michael says, scrambling to open up the iron. The waffle’s a little charred on the edges, but at least he didn’t have to be the one to interrupt Jake and Rich eye-fucking. “Here, sit down, and um, happy birthday!”

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” Jeremy mumbles as he sits down at the table. Michael slides a plate towards him, along with the bowl of cream, and he perks up a little. “Holy shit, thanks.”

Things go uncannily quick from there, but Michael’s not sure if that’s nerves or just the general sense of adrenaline that happens whenever Jake and Rich are in the same room. After breakfasts and showers and general cleaning up, they somehow convince him and Jeremy to take a detour on the way to the hotel to buy extra chips and a fruit platter of all things, and then they’re willing to foot the bill for a california roll, and Michael’s never been one to turn down Stop And Shop sushi. The cheap tuna fish is pretty good, except for the fact that it means they’re running late by the time they pull into the hotel’s parking lot.

The hotel is thankfully not filled with spiders, shitty robots or peeling wall paper, but the raised eyebrow the woman at the desk gives Michael when he mentions Christine and Jenna showing up soon brings a fresh wave of anxiety.

He collapses on one of the beds in the room, blinking blearily at the sunlight fanning through the open window as Rich and Jake wander back out to grab the rest of the stuff from the car. It’s weird. He’s never really been in a hotel room during the day, but it’s not bad, sitting here and staring at the beige walls and trying not to worry.

The bed springs creak as Jeremy sits down next to him and reaches over to run a hand through his hair. “Are you okay?”

Michael makes a noise halfway between a scream and a sigh, burying his head in the blankets.

“Thanks. I uh, know I already told you, but like, this means a lot to me.”

He nods into the duvet, and Jeremy hums and keeps stroking from the base of his skull down his spine. It’s nice, and Michael can feel himself melting into the mattress a little. 

“Better?” Jeremy asks, and Michael nods and sits up. “I mean, I know it’s like, my party, but I want you to have fun.”

“I think I will, even if nothing sexy happens, it’s still the six of us chilling.”

Jeremy smiles and holds up a hand. Michael slaps it, swings around for the low-five, and they awkwardly shift around to knock their legs together. It gets easier to breathe after that.

Jake and Rich return a few minutes later with the box of rice crispies, the soda and the tank of helium. Michael feels the briefest moment of hope as Jake digs through his coat pocket, his cane hooked in the crook of his arm, and then he pulls out an obscene plastic bag and-

“You really didn’t have to, guys,” Michael says, staring down the label that says Ball-oons. “You really didn’t.”

“Oh, but we did,” Jake says, passing a balloon to Rich, who’s got the helium tank in his lap. They’re wearing identical smug-as-shit grins. “Aren’t you proud?”

“We’re disowning you,” Jeremy informs them, not even looking up from where he’s straightening the menacing pile of lube, condoms and dental dams. “Goodbye son.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jake says.

“Look, Jeremy, a beautiful butterfly,” Rich says, bemused, and lets go of the foot long, vaguely dick shaped balloon, watching it glide towards the ceiling and bounce gently off it. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“This is why I’m Jewish.”

“Jeremy, I thought you were Jewish because your mom was?!” Christine’s voice is muffled behind the door, but it still comes through loud and clear. “Also, like, can you let us in?”

Jeremy pads over to open the door, and god, Michael must be getting sentimental in his old age, because he can’t help the unabashed grin that breaks out over his face when he sees them. Jenna’s got a duffel bag over her shoulder and Christine’s arms are piled high with at least three tote bags, but she’s already dropping everything on the other bed to run over and give him a hug. “Michael! Jeremy!”

“Chris!”

She all but tackles them, grabbing at Jake too as he smiles and ducks out of the way. Her face is pressed against Michael’s chest, her arms looped around him and Jeremy, and Michael feels a little pang in his chest. It’s weird, how he can never seem to miss his friends properly- it’s always in starts and bursts, like he spends half the time thinking they’re still just a fifteen minute drive away and half with the crippling knowledge that something could happen and it’d take half a day to get to them. But they’re here now, so Michael just holds her tight.

She squirms out of his grip after a moment, because trying to hold Christine still is like herding cats, and Michael wipes his eyes, a little embarrassed at how emotional he’s getting. “How are you two doing?”

“Good, good,” Jenna says, setting her duffel bag down in the corner. “The drive wasn’t too bad.”

Christine nods. “I saw like five deer and a fox! It was so cool? And classes are going really well? And I’m auditioning for the lead next week- Blanche Dubois, again! I don’t mind getting another part though- I mean, it’d be fun to try and look at the story from another point of view, but I can still remember all my lines, so it’d be super easy!”

“Yeah, we just wrapped up, uh, Rosencrantz and Guilderstein? I was uh, Hamlet, which would have been more impressive if I didn’t have only ten lines,” Jeremy laughs, “I mean, I did get to wear a nice costume, so there’s that.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry I couldn’t come! But I made the cookies! I thought a cake would get messed up in the car but these transported really well!” Christine chirps, and hands them each a cookie. Michael looks at it, turns it a little before he realizes-

“Christine, holy shit.”

“Do you like them? I thought it was thematic, and the pride club had a bunch of cookie cutters so I used them!” Christine says, waving a sugar cookie shaped and iced to look like a dildo. “Look, it’s the one you had in high school!”

Jeremy has gone a very, very interesting shade of red. “Christine-”

“See, it’s even got the knot!”

That’s too much. Michael loves his friends, but not enough to keep from cackling at them. “I’m sorry, I just-” He rubs at his eyes- “Thank you, Christine. I’m never letting him live this down.”

Jenna nods, grinning from ear to ear. She looks kind of like she’s plotting the murder of an emperor or something, and is enjoying every second of it. “Oh my god,  _ yes _ . Have I told you I love you, Christine?”

Christine laughs and high fives them both, and Jeremy just looks like he’s seen his entire sex life flash before his eyes.

“Hey, is that a Hitachi?” Jake asks, leaning over Michael’s shoulder to prod at a blue and white cookie.

“Yes!” She says, clapping her hands. “That one’s a Mona, that’s a buttplug, and that one’s just a penis!”

Needless to say, that’s how they get sidetracked for a solid ten minutes playing  _ I Spy Phallic Desserts,  _ because honestly Christine’s put more effort into these than Michael’s put into life in general, and it shows. If he could frame a batch of cookies, he would. 

“Well,” Jenna says, nibbling at the remains of a cookie that’s vaguely pink and rabbit shaped. “I have like, one thing I gotta grab outta the car. Don’t eat them all without me.”

Rich grumbles something through his mouthful of royal icing, but it falls on deaf ears. After a few minutes, Jenna returns with a large black box. It’s got a weird, faux leather finish and a zipper around it, like a massive camera carrier. She sets it on the bed, and with a flourish, undoes the zip, and Michael feels his jaw drop.

“Holy shit, Jenna, is that a Sybian?”

She nods smugly at Jake, who is patting the side of the machine like he’s trying to figure out if it’s real, and fishes out a packet of silicone attachments. “You bet it is, Dillinger.”

“Jenny,” Rich says, plucking one of the dildo attachments from her hand and examining it. “Are you shitting me? These things cost a thousand fucking bucks.”

“Fourteen hundred, actually.”

Jake wolf whistles. “Christ, how’d you get one of these?”

“Well,” Jenna says, playing with her hair, “If I tell you, that sort of spoils some of the fun.”

“C’mon, Jenna. You’re not seriously going to hold out on us, are you?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Mystery is part of the appeal.”

“Jenna,” Christine whines. “Tell us.”

“Fine, fine.” She steeples her fingers, grinning at them from her perch on the bed. “Well, over the summer, my uncle Henry passed away- hey, don’t give me that look, Chris, he was ninety-six- and he eh, left me some stuff?”

Rich blinks. “Jenna, did your uncle will you his vibrator.”

“No!” Jenna all but shouts. “Rich! He gave me money not- no!”

“Did,” Rich squints for a long moment. “Did you  _ kill your uncle for a Sybian _ ?”

“I didn’t kill my uncle for a Sybian!”

Jeremy looks between Rich and a very red faced Jenna. “I’m just surprised that you’d spend that much money on a sex toy.”

“Yeah, well, you spent four hundred on a Tic Tac!”

Jeremy looks like he’s about to argue, but he just sighs. “Touche.”

“Aside from Jenna’s thing,” Jake ventures, “Rich and I brought some DVDs, if you guys want to watch anything before we… start.”

That’s the most direct mention of the reason they’re all here that anyone’s made, because sex jokes are easy but anything else has vague shades of terrifying. Michael nods, because he’s a little bit of a coward. 

As Jake goes to turn on the DVD player, Rich stands and takes off his shirt, and  _ Jesus Christ. _ Michael feels his face heat up, and tactfully tries not to make eye contact with Rich’s nipples. 

Rich raises an eyebrow. “Trust me, it’s easier if you get it out of the way early. Makes it less awkward later.”

Michael lets out a long breath, reminds himself that if anyone know proper orgy etiquette, it’s Rich, and takes off his shirt and jeans, half assedly folding them and dumping them in the closet. Everyone does pretty much the same thing, Christine wiggling out of her stockings and dress, and Jake unbuttoning his flannel shirt. It’s like watching snakes shed their skin, and then there they are, standing around in their underwear in a weird semi circle. Well, save for Jeremy, who’s taken off his jeans but not his t-shirt. Thankfully, no one comments.

There’s a long moment of everyone looking each other over, eyes flicking from Jeremy’s long, pale legs, to the curve of Christine’s waist, to the stretch marks on Jenna’s thighs, to the faded skin graft scars on Rich’s side, to Jake’s frankly ridiculous, Ken-doll esque physique, to Michael’s whatever. It’s not even hot, or salacious or anything, it’s more the mutual feeling of, “Huh, so that’s what you look like pantsless.”

Fortunately, familiarity wins out over nudity, and they do what they’ve always done. Everyone clambers onto couches and beds, awkwardly trying not to openly stare at all the skin on display. It’s a little easier if Michael looks over the top of his glasses and pretends the blurry blobs aren’t his friends in underwear, and are actually his friends in swimwear, but that’s got mixed results, because then he’s thinking about how beautiful Jeremy looked at the beach when Michael finally dragged him to the Philippines to meet the extended family, and yeah. 

Not the greatest strategy.

Still, Jake hits the play button, and High School Musical fills the screen, and despite the complaining, everyone sits still and watches, passing the chips and vegetable platter between them.

Well, watch is a strong word. Everyone’s seen High School Musical about a million times at school events or birthday parties, so it sort of ends up as background noise as Jake launches into a discussion of how medical school is going, or Jenna ropes them into some story about the weird study group at her school and the unholy hell that was pajama day, and Michael can’t help but smile at the gleam in her eyes.

But aside from the fact that every five minutes the conversation grinds to a halt so everyone can scream “WHAT TEAM? WILDCATS!” or sing along, out of tune, it’s pretty okay. Pretty great, actually. See, the thing is, Michael thought it’d be weirder, sitting here with Jenna and Rich and Jake and Christine. That there would be some weird tension or aggression or whatever, but there’s none of that. Well, there is tension, but it’s thankfully of the sexual kind, which is sort of the whole point.

The odd thing is, he feels safe like this, Christine leaning against him on one side and Jeremy with his arm around him on the other, even if she’s almost naked. Her bra is eye catching in bright teal and lace, and though it’s not really Michael’s thing, he can still appreciate the aesthetics. Same with Jenna, lounging on the couch.

Rich and Jake on the other hand,  _ Christ _ . Michael would feel a lot more guilty about staring if A, he couldn’t see Jeremy’s red face and the way he’s watching out of the corner of his eye, and B, if they weren’t about to have sex. He does his best to stay focused on what Christine’s saying, but then he catches a glimpse of Jake squeezing Rich’s ass on the other bed and the way Rich claws his nails down Jake’s back in retaliation, and his concentration goes to shit.

He’s kind of glad they’re taking care of the whole being sexy thing. It may be Jeremy’s night, but Michael’s not sure how he feels about feeling him up in front of everyone like that, right out of the gate. Rich and Jake don’t seem to mind at least, if the way Rich winks at him when he catches Michael watching says anything.

Michael swallows dryly and shifts, feeling his cock shift against his boxers, already half hard and way too sensitive.

They meander through a few more topics- Jeremy’s set design class he took on a whim, Jake’s volunteer work at the dog shelter, Rich’s attempts to get Jake not to adopt every puppy he sees- but they aren’t letting up. Jake describes the golden retriever they brought in the other week, and Rich slips a hand around to pinch his nipple. Rich points out that their dorm has a strict no pets policy, and that Carrie, down the hall, has a serious allergy, and Jake slides his hand down his boxers.

It’s really distracting.

That’s why he’s a little glad when Jenna turns off the TV and speaks up.

“Jake. Rich,” She announces, arms folded. “This is worse than senior year. Are you just going to fondle each other for the next five hours, or are you actually going to fuck?”

“We were kind of waiting for the hosts’ okay,” Rich says, and looks pointedly at Michael and Jeremy.

Michael feels his face heat up and shares a look with Jeremy, who’s about as red as he feels. “Are you-”

“Yeah?”

“Great.” Michael gives a thumbs up to Rich, who cracks his knuckles and stands.

“Well, I don’t need these anymore!” Rich announces, and takes off his socks, throwing them at the wall. They hit it and fall gracefully onto the desk lamp. “Jenny, can I use your dead uncle’s sex machine?”

“He didn’t actually own it!” Jenna half-shouts, exasperated. “But yes. Do me proud, Goranski.”

Rich gives a salute and stretches, like a runner limbering up. It’s a little bit mesmerizing, watching him strip out of his underwear and sit on the bed, cracking open a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicking it over his fingers.

“Do you want me to-” Jake asks, watching intently.

“Look Jake, I love you, but I haven’t had like a bajillion surgeries on this hand to let someone else finger me,” Rich says, pointing to the scars on his knuckles. He spreads his legs, leaning back on a couple of pillows, and wow, it take Michael moment to really comprehend that that penis is Rich’s penis, and that holy shit, he’s actually watching his friend get ready to fuck himself with a sex machine that’s probably worth more than his car. 

Rich shuts his eyes, lets out a long breath and reaches up rub his nipple, then slowly trails his fingers down his abdomen, running them over the tight line of his stomach and the pink scars flecking his left side. He finally smooths his palm down the bones of his hip, cupping his erection and fisting it in short, sharp strokes as he works himself up to full hardness.

Michael’s not really sure what he expected from Rich- more bravado, some sort of jokingly bad porno dialouge, maybe a few cheesy one liners, but it’s not this. Rich is quiet as he works himself over, teeth digging into lip and utterly silent aside from the occasional hiss of pleasure or strangled moan. He doesn’t know how much of this is a show, whether or not the gasp when he presses a finger into himself, head lolling back on the pillows, is exaggerated, but he can’t pull his eyes away either way.

Stil, as much as he hears his heartbeat in his ears, feels the way his cock’s straining against his boxers, he can’t bring himself to touch himself. It feels almost like he’s in a nature documentary, and if he makes any sudden movements, he’ll disrupt the mating ritual of the wild Goranski.

Everyone else is quiet too, and Michael can’t figure out if it’s out of the same sense of reverence or sheer awkward. He’s much too focused on how Rich’s eyelids flutter and his cock twitches against his stomach as he presses a second finger in. The wet noise as Rich begins to open himself up sounds even louder in the silence, and Michael is transfixed as Rich scissors himself open.

He remembers his first time with Jeremy, remembers trying to commit everything to memory, setting hungry eyes all over him, and this feels a little like that, even if he’s not really trying to tuck away every detail for later. Something tells him that he’s never going to forget the punched out noise Rich makes when he pushes deeper, up to the knuckle, or the lube smeared on the inside of his thighs, or the way his legs twitch when he gets a particularly good thrust in.

Rich cracks open an eye and looks at the semicircle of people watching him get off. “You guys are allowed to actually do stuff. You realize that right? Like, I’m really hoping this isn’t going to be the Richard-Goranski-fucks-himself-in-a-quiet-room hour.”

“Sorry?” Michael offers, and Rich shrugs and pulls his fingers out, wiping them on some tissues.

“It’s fine dude, but like, it’s better to have a good audience?” Rich says, waving a hand as he gets off the bed. “Helps with the  _ confidence _ .”

The pelvic thrust thing Rich likes to do for emphasis looks a lot more obscene when he’s naked.

“Rich, stop waving your dick at us and get on the sex toy,” Jenna says, scarcely looking up from the Sybian’s knotted wire. “I didn’t drag 22 pounds of dildo here from Pennsylvania  _ not  _ to watch someone ride it. Lemme just untangle the cord.”

“Okay, okay,” Rich grumbles, walking over and straddling the Sybian. The dildo thing sits in front of him, and with it pressed up against Rich’s stomach like that, Michael is suddenly  _ very aware  _ of how much Rich’s going to be taking. The realization is enough for him to slip his hand into his shorts, and he can’t bite back the moan as he wraps his fingers around his dick.

Rich stretches, spreading his legs out even more. “See, isn’t that better?”

Michael bites back a comment, and pointedly looks at anything but Rich’s shit eating grin. Christine’s lounging on the arm chair with her bra unhooked so she reach under it to play with her nipples, Jake has eschewed clothing entirely and is watching with rapt attention and Jeremy-

Jeremy’s just kind of sitting there, the fabric of his tented boxers fisted in his fingers, bright red from the tips of his ears down to his elbows.

“Hey,” Michael whispers, leaning in. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Jeremy says, voice rough. “I just… wanna last until the end.”

“No one’s going to judge you for coming, Jer. That’s kinda the point.”

Jeremy shrugs. “No, I mean, I don’t want to be, uh, allowed to. Yet.”

“Okay,” Michael says, letting his fingers trail down Jeremy’s spine. He leans closer and nips his ear, quick and light enough not to really hurt, but it still makes Jeremy’s breath hitch. “I think I can work with that. Look, but don’t touch.”

Jeremy nods, swallowing, and Michael presses a kiss to his throat.

“Hah!” Jenna says, holding the now untangled cord above her head. “Jake, you wanna get over here too?”

“Fuck yes,” Jake says, fist pumping. He gets up, and wow, Michael couldn’t see it when he was sitting down, but  _ Jesus Christ Jake _ , way to give a guy a fucking complex.

Michael licks his lips as he watches Jake sit down next to Rich. Even with the Sybian under him, Rich is still barely eye to eye with Jake.

“So, what’s a guy like you doing in place like this?” Rich drawls.

Jake just rolls his eyes and swats Rich’s ass lightly. “C’mon dude, don’t be a tease.”

“A tease? Jake, I would never,” Rich avows, but he gets on his knees and shuffles forward, lining himself up with that dildo before he sinks down on it, breath catching as he adjusts to the fullness. “How could I ever-”

Jenna flicks a switch, and the vibrator comes to life with a dull hum. “Just tell me if you want to stop, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rich rolls his eyes, and gives his hips an experimental buck. “Use your power well, Jenny.”

Jenna smiles and pats the remote lovingly. “Believe me, I’m planning to.”

At first, Rich tries to ride the Sybian well, like a dick, rolling his hips and working up to a steady beat, but then Jenna clicks the dial higher, and his rhythm falters. Then again, that could be Jake’s fault. He’s sitting behind Rich, kneading his thighs and biting dark hickies across Rich’s neck. From this angle he can’t see Jake’s face as he slips lower down Rich’s back, but he can see how his hands are trailing up Rich’s hips, and the way Rich’s head falls back when Jake finally grabs his dick.

It’s still kind of strange, just sitting here watching them go at it, listening to Rich curse everytime Jenna drops the intensity and moan when she cranks it up, but Michael can’t really find it in him to care. Maybe it’s the fact that arousal has pretty much killed any higher cognitive function, or maybe it’s just that he spent most of high school doing this, watching the popular kids dance around eachother in some unfathomable dance, never stepping into onto the floor himself, but he’s okay with watching and quietly jerking off. Better than okay, if he’s being honest with himself.

Rich’s stomach is sticky with precome already, cock twitching against his belly as he pushes back against the Sybian, desperate for more pressure. Michael traces his eyes down the line of Rich’s chest hungrily, watching the way he pants, chin dropped to his chest. He’s trying to go slow, pace himself, but its hard to when he’s watching how Jake nips at Rich’s neck. He wants to do- well he doesn’t really know what he wants, because anything he could do would ruin the image.

Jake twists his hand over the dark, desperate head of Rich’s cock, and he falls forward, balanced on his hands. Jenna smiles wickedly, and turns up the machine, petting Rich’s thigh as he moans. His legs are splayed out obscenely, shaking as she dials it higher. “Jake, please, fucking- ah, fuck!”

He smiles lazily, and picks up the pace, swiping his thumb hard across the slit, and Rich groans and cants his hips into Jake’s fist. Michael watches as Rich falls apart, trying to fuck back onto the dildo and into Jake’s hand at the same time.

“I think we should turn it up,” Jake says, and Michael feels a vague sense of envy over how put together he still is. “What do you think Jenna?”

Jenna looks Rich over, running a hand down his spine, and smiles, playing along. “I don’t know. What do you think Rich?”

“Fuck you-” Rich lets out a sharp breath as he bucks his hips- “ _ Yes _ .”

“Mmhmm.” Jenna squeezes his ass, making Rich cuss, and brings up the intensity one notch at a time. Rich whines, and leans back against Jake as the machine grows louder, and Michael can see the tendon of his hip jump at the increased vibration.

Jenna clicks the dial up.

Rich grabs the sheets for purchase, twisting them in his hands.

Jenna turns it farther.

Rich’s legs shake from the vibration, and he curses. “Fuck- yellow. Too much.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jenna says quickly, and clicks the dial down. “Is that better?”

“Yeah- fuck yes,” Rich pants, nails scrabbling across the sheets. “Just a little more-  _ fuck. _ ”

Rich keens as Jake gives him one last stroke, and comes in his fist, back pressed up against Jake’s chest. Dutifully, Jenna turns down the dial, and the Sybian goes from a dull rumble to high pitch whine until finally it’s silent and still. 

Rich lays there for a long moment, slumped against Jake, and then slowly sits up and gets off, cursing quietly as the dildo slips out. Jenna helps him up, and he bows to their audience. Of course, he then stumbles and nearly faceplants into the Sybian. Jenna doesn’t bother chiding him, just hooks her arm around his waist and guides him over to the couch, whispering something. Jake watches fondly as they sit.

“Hey, Chris, can you grab a wet towel?” She asks, petting Rich’s thigh, then frowns when it comes away cover in lube and come. “Okay, yeah, make that two.”

“You don’t have to wipe me down like a sponge bath or something,” Rich grumbles. “Those fucking suck.”

Jenna blinks. “Sorry. Do you just want to take a shower or-”

“Nah, it’s cool. I kinda wanna watch.”

“Fair enough.” Christine hands her the towels, and Michael sends up a silent prayer for whoever’s going to have to wash them later. Whoever they are, they don’t get paid enough.

There’s a weird sort of silence as Jenna and Jake wipe Rich down. Michael sort of expects to feel some crushing sadness or guilt or whatever high school health class warned him about when it came to the dangers of promiscuity, but it hasn’t appeared. There’s just the warm feeling in his chest he’s learned to associate with being around his friends and , and the warm feeling in his dick he’s learned to associate with being unreasonably turned on. 

Christine pads over to sit with them on the now defiled couch, and Jeremy leans in closer to Michael, warm under his shirt. He hums and traces the hand he hasn’t been stroking himself with down Jeremy’s back, letting it settle just below the curve of his hip. “You good?”

Jeremy nods, cursing under his breath as Michael kneads his thigh through his boxers, inching closer to his erection. He can feel the dampness through the fabric, knows Jeremy’s still leaking even if he’s not allowed to touch himself, and slips his hand forward to palm him. Jeremy hisses at the sudden touch. “ _ Michael. _ ”

“Hey, I never said I’d make this easy for you.”

“Asshole,” Jeremy grumbles, letting his head fall against Michael’s shoulder. 

Michael just hums and slips his fingers through the fly of Jeremy’s underwear, loosely stroking him. Jeremy’s eyes flutter shut, and he bites his lip hard enough to leave an imprint. “Okay seriously, fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to come yet, Jeremy. You’re giving me mixed messages here.”

“So, dude, what do we do next?” Jake announces, cutting off whatever remark Jeremy was going to make. Michael quietly upgrades Jake from Best Friend to Best Friend Who Also Helps Me Mess With Jeremy in appreciation.

“Well, I ain’t fucking moving. Sorry bro,” Rich says from the couch. “My ass is out of commission. Find someone else. Chase your fucking dreams. Dream fucking. Whatever.”

“I sorta have plans, like, I’m not really adverse, but like-” Christine shrugs sheepishly from next to Jenna- “Maybe later?”

There's a long moment of silence, and Michael feels like everyone’s eyes are on him and-

“Michael wants to suck you off!” Jeremy pipes up, and Michael glares at him, because of course, he gets over the whole shyness thing just in time to throw him under the bus.

“I could  _ not _ want to suck him off, Jeremy. Have you ever considered that?” Michael puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. It’s not that he’s wrong, but still,  _ rude. _ “I’m more than blow jobs and a pretty face. I’m like, at least a couple Gamecubes too. Maybe a pack of Dunkaroos.”

“Michael, you literally gasped when you saw his dick,” Jeremy says, smirking like the asshole he is. “You fucking size queen.”

“I’m not a size queen!”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m not!”

“Ahem,” Jenna says, staring at them from the couch. “As entertaining as this is, Jake’s probably going to pass out from a lack of blood to the brain if you don’t answer.”

Michael glances at Jake, then at Jake’s dick, which is  _ really  _ not helping with rational decision making, then over at Jeremy.

“Hey, I’ll be right here. Moral support,” Jeremy says, smiling. “It’s a two player game, am I right?”

“Jeremy, this really isn’t wasn’t the context I imagined when I said that.”

Jeremy wheezes and pats his shoulder. “I stand by it.”

“You’re a goddamn terror, Heere,” Michael sighs and gets up, Jeremy following. It’s kinda weird having everyone look at him like this, but then again, it’s not like he’s used to being the center of attention. It’s not like he’s ignored or something, but the spotlight isn’t something he really seeks out. “Mr. Dillinger, can I suck your dick. Please.”

Jake laughs, hands on his hips, and Michael tries and fails to maintain eye contact. “Mr. Mell, Mr. Dillinger was my father. But yeah man, suck my dick.”

“This was a mistake,” Jenna says from the couch. Michael ignores her.

Jake smiles that one hundred volt grin and grabs a condom from the pile on the nightstand. “So, where do you want to do this?” 

Michael shrugs. “You on the bed, me on the floor?”

“Cool, dude.” Jake sits on the bed with his legs spread invitingly, and Michael swallows as he takes off his glasses and kneels between them. He can hear Jeremy shift and slide onto the bed behind him, but he doesn’t really look, because he’s sort of preoccupied.

When Michael was fifteen, right before Mrs. Heere ditched her entire fucking family, she took him and Jeremy out to the beach. There was a lot of swimming and passive aggressiveness and enough sunscreen to give someone zinc poisoning, because Jeremy fries like an egg white whenever a UV ray so much as pokes him, but more importantly there had been an ice cream cart. Jeremy had gotten some weird chocolate taco hybrid, and Michael had gotten the largest popsicle they sold, because for some reason his brain had decided that the texture of ice cream was going to be utterly nauseating until the end of senior year. Which was weird, but whatever, not really the point.

Eventually they’d managed to get away from Jeremy’s mom and creep off to hide behind one of the piers, so they could make actual jokes without her glaring at them. The conversation had naturally progressed from Pokemon, to whatever car Dustin Kropp was pretending to own, to Jeremy’s porn preferences, to Jeremy denying he watched porn entirely, to Michael shouting, “Look Jeremy! I’m a sexy lady!” and attempting to deepthroat the popsicle, to Jeremy hauling him up and performing the Heimlich on him until he coughed up the chunk of lemon flavored hell that had melted and gotten into his trachea.

Kneeling on the hotel’s carpet and staring at Jake Dillinger’s dick, Michael is distinctly reminded of that fucking popsicle.

Okay, deep breaths. You can do this, Mell. Usually when he blows Jeremy, it’s sort of a natural progression of kissing slowly moving south, an easy transition from his lips to his collar bone, then his ribs and hips to his dick. But that doesn’t really feel right. It’s too… intimate, for lack of a better word, and he’s already down here, so Michael shrugs, leans in and licks a long stripe up the underside of Jake’s cock. 

Jake makes an approving noise, and rests his hand on the back of Michael’s head, scratching his scalp gently, and yeah, that’s actually pretty nice. Reassuring, at least.

He keeps going, kissing the tip of Jake’s cock, the ridge of his head, and the base of the shaft, mentally fist pumping each time Jake shifts and his breathing goes sharp. Jake’s not as vocal as Jeremy gets, but he’s receptive in his own way, in the little shaky exhales he gives whenever Michael tongues his slit, or the way his nails slide across Michael’s neck when he moves a hand to play with his balls.

It’s nice, testing the limits of how much noise he can get him to make. With Jeremy, it’s never too hard to reduce him into a moaning, crying mess, and Michael loves that, loves how he lets him in and allows him to take him apart, so open and easy, but Jake’s different- a little more guarded. Every whimper when Michael runs his lips down his length feels like an achievement.

Jake hums and gently grabs Michael’s shoulder, insistent, and Michael complies, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. Latex condoms are never, ever going to lose that vaguely clinical feeling, but Michael can live with that. He’s always liked giving blow jobs- the weight on his tongue, the ache in his jaw, and the way he can make someone come undone so easily.

It’s rude to tease, so Michael tries not to keep Jake waiting. He bobs his head, taking more of him each time he goes down. Jake groans under him as he hallows his cheeks, and the noise is like a shock through his system. “Christ, Michael.”

Michael squeezes his balls lightly, earning another curse from Jake, and reaches a hand down to palm himself through his boxers. He can’t help but moan as he finally gets a hand around himself, stroking slower now. He never lasts long like this, but he can at least make an effort.

“Hey,” Jeremy says behind him, and then he’s sliding off bed and sitting next to him. He traces his fingers through Michael’s hair, and god that’s nice, then slides his other hand into Michael’s boxers. “Here, let me.”

Michael kind of wants to make the obligatory Here/Heere joke, but then Jeremy’s batting his hand away from his dick and stroking the head of his cock, and suddenly he doesn’t really have the mental capacity to think up any good puns.

“Better?” Jeremy asks, and Michael can hear the fondness in his voice. In response, he hums around Jake’s shaft and pushes down.

The thing is, Jeremy doesn’t have a gag reflex. Michael does, but he doesn’t really envy his boyfriend. There’s something undeniably fun about holding his breath and pushing back against his own body, taking Jake as deep as he can, which, to be fair, is pretty damn deep. Jake’s cock is a little longer than Jeremy’s, and significantly thicker, and the way his lips are stretched tight around the base is sending him straight to hell.

“Hol- holy shit, dude,” Jake gasps, hand a vice on his shoulder, as he watches Michael take him until his nose is pressed against the skin of his stomach. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, sounding a little smug as he runs a hand through Michael’s hair. “He’s good at it, huh?”

Jake doesn’t reply, just moans obscenely as Michael begins to move again, slow and short at first, then longer and quicker, until he’s practically about to pull off before he pushes down again, relishing the way his throat spasms with each bob of his head.

Jeremy’s still jerking him off, faster now, doing that thing Michael loves where he starts tight at the base and flicks his wrist just right as he pulls off, but the hand in his hair has trailed down to rest on Michael’s throat, and fuck if that’s not the hottest thing.

Michael wonders if everyone’s watching. Maybe they can see behind the bed, him kneeling in front of Jake, legs spread, lips red and slick with saliva, and Jeremy with his fingers around his throat and a hand tight around his cock, or maybe they can only see Jake coming apart at the seams, too undone by him to do anything but gasp his name. It’s petty and dumb that he still cares about highschool, 5 years later, but part of him is still giddy over the fact that he’s made the stupid hierarchy his bitch, and he rides that power high as he picks up the pace.

Jeremy’s pressing kisses down his back, scraping his teeth lightly against the skin, and Michael feels warm wherever they touch. He knows he’s leaking, knows what that the tight, heavy feeling in his gut means, knows that every time he bucks into Jeremy’s is bringing him closer, and then Jeremy bites his shoulder, and  _ God. _

It’s too much, too good, and Michael’s coming so hard his legs shake, his groan muffled by the cock in his throat, and that must do it for Jake too, what with the way he’s moaning.

As much as he’d like to let Jake ride out his orgasm properly, Michael’s lungs have a finite capacity. He pulls off, saliva running down his chin and gasping for breath, and lays his head on Jake’s thigh and listens to him pant.

He stands up after a long moment and flops on the other bed, massaging his jaw, because the pleasant ache’s going to turn into a real unpleasant cramp if he’s not careful. When he glances down, there are little indents from the carpet on his knees. Michael trails his fingers over them almost reverently, face flushed, until Jeremy hands him a water and a towel. “Thanks dude.”

Jeremy laughs, and Michael winces at how rough, how fucked out his voice sounds, and wipes off his chin and neck, feeling debauched. He uncaps the water bottle and chugs it, nearly moaning at how good the cold water feels on his throat.

Jeremy sits down by him, passes him his glasses, and helps slide his ruined boxers off. Michael sighs contentedly, leans against him, and lets his boyfriend touch him, petting his thighs and chest and belly softly. He’d feel more embarrassed about this, shuffling close to Jeremy and letting him take care of him, if not for the fact that Jeremy is even more of cuddleslut after sex, and the fact that Rich, Jenna and Christine look genuinely impressed. The hungry looks on their faces are honestly a bit of a self esteem boost.

“That was really, really good, dude,” Jake says, sounding so genuine it makes Michael’s breath catch. “You have a talent. Thanks.”

“I, um… You have a nice dick?” Jake laughs easily, and Michael ducks his head, suddenly self conscious. “Thanks for letting me? Suck it?”

“No prob,” Jake says, smiling and gets up, wandering bathroom-wards. Michael lets his eyes idly trail after Jake’s naked ass, because in for a penny, in for a pound.

He sighs, letting himself go boneless in Jeremy’s arms. His erection is pressed against his back, the fabric damp on his skin, and Michael’s genuinely impressed at what’s either stamina or an excellent refractory period. “Still waiting?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, resting his chin on Michael’s head, and if Michael was a crueller man, he’d grind against Jeremy just to see him yelp. “I uh, heh. Yeah.”

“Well, if you can hold out another, ten, fifteen minutes, I’ll make it worth your while. Otherwise…” Michael trails off. The threat is implicit, but what it actually is, Michael has no idea. Then again, that’s not really the point of the game. It’s the pressure that does it for Jeremy, not the punishment. “Think you can make it?”

Appealing to Jeremy’s competitive side is pretty much a guaranteed success, Michael’s learned, and as usual he isn’t disappointed. Jeremy swallows and nods. “Yeah. I can.”

Jenna and Christine have been whispering something for the last few minutes, which is pretty impressive considering that Jenna has a hand between Christine’s legs- a very drunk Jeremy had once done an entire soliloquy on Christine’s screaming orgasms senior year, and Michael hadn’t been able to meet her eyes for a week.

She leans in, mouth falling open in a pink O as she gasps when Jenna shifts her hand, and then nudges her head towards them. 

Michael waves lazily, and she returns it with the hand that’s not currently groping Jenna’s breast. Now that he’s worked off some of the hormones, Michael feels like he can really grasp the surrealness of this situation.

_ “Hand see morrow oar koi send, _ ” She mouths at him, and Michael puts his hand out in the universal gesture of “What the fuck?”

“Can we borrow your boyfriend?” She says, louder, and yeah, that makes significantly more sense. “I mean, for sex?”

Rich snorts from the sidelines. “I’m not really sure what else you’d do with him.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. Use him as a footstool?”

“Guys!” Michael glances up at a very, very red Jeremy, and grins.

“I dunno Jenna,” Christine says. “I mean, I kinda was going to ask him to finger me, but-” She shrugs.

Jenna nods, considering, and does something with her fingers that makes Christine yelp. “That’s a good idea. Hey, Jeremy, wanna join us?”

Jeremy makes a low, whimpering noise, glancing between them, Michael, and the tent in his boxers, debating the pros and cons. Michael imagines it’s probably something like “Hot Girls vs. My Dick Might Explode.”

“You should,” Michael says, shifting so Jeremy can get up. “If you want to.”

Jeremy nods, slowly slides off the bed, and pads over to the couch. Christine smiles up at him and gestures for him to sit, then joins him on the floor. Rich stretches and gets up to give them space, flumping down next Michael on the bed, looking bemused.

“How’s it hanging, dude?” He asks as Christine hooks one of Jenna’s legs over her shoulder. “Nice job on Jake, by the way.”

Michael wonders if this is what Olympic divers feel like when the judges hold up the score cards. “Um, thank you? And I’m good. Throat hurts though.”

Jenna punctuates Rich’s laughter with a low moan as Christine strokes her clit. “I noticed. You wants some cough drops? Tea and honey?”

“I’m not sick, you ass,” Michael grumbles as he watches Jeremy move in, sliding his hand down the Christine’s side to between her legs. He’s not even going to pretend he knows whatever Jeremy’s doing down there to make Christine cry out like that, whimpering against Jenna’s thigh. Either way, it’s weird seeing Jeremy at this angle, legs tucked under him, and head bowed in concentration. He wonders if this is what it looks like when Jeremy fingers him. “I just… yeah.”

“It’s okay dude, we’ve all sucked too much dick at one point or an-” Michael chokes on his water, and Rich thumps his back until he coughs it up instead of granting the mercy of letting him die of shame- “I mean, god, the first time I blew Jake was a complete shitshow, lemme fucking tell you. I was allergic to the grape flavoring in the lube and my tongue-”

“Rich, that is way more information than I need,” Michael says, rubbing his throat. “Seriously.”

“Sorry,” Rich laughs, sounding only a little sorry. “So, enjoying the show?”

Michael hums. Jenna and Christine are both awesome, but they aren’t really doing anything for him. The whole _ women _ thing has never really been his cup of tea. Still, Michael can’t deny they look good together. It’s like looking at renaissance painting, the sunlight streaming in through blinds gilding Jeremy’s profile, Christine’s breast and Jenna’s hair. Except that painting is from an alternate universe where Michelangelo drew porn across the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Jeremy, at least, looks nice like this; on his knees, gasping whenever he brushes against his erection, tongue poked out in concentration as he drags another staggered moan from Christine, making her roll her hips against his fingers.

Michael smiles, feeling the buzz of arousal under his skin for the second time that night. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rich says, and the conversation lapses into a comfortable silence, save for Christine’s moaning and Jenna’s little hisses of pleasure. Michael drums his fingers on his thigh, waiting. It feels kind of like sex ed class in high school, mostly because this is pretty much the only time other he’s had to really think or care about heterosexual-

“Hey guys!” Jake announces, drawing everyone’s gaze for a moment. He and Christine make eye contact for what feels like an eternity, then his eyes slip to where her fingers disappear into Jenna’s vagina, and Jeremy behind her, scissoring her open, and his expression goes from eager to guilty. “Sorry, I’ll uh...”

Rich pats his back as he joins Michael’s observation post, leaning his cane dejectedly against the mattress. “It’s okay bud. We’ve all walked in on a threesome before.”

“I haven’t,” Michael says bluntly.

Rich shrugs. “I was being reassuring. You’re tearing the delicate fabric of Jake and I’s relationship apart, Mell.”

“I’m a real homewrecker,” Michael agrees as Christine’s little yelps and moans pick up the pace. He can see Jeremy’s long fingers sliding in and out of her, methodical, and feels his cock twitch at the intense look in Jeremy’s eyes.

He glances at Rich on his left and Jake on the right. Michael’s not really sure what courtesy calls for in this situation- should he sit on the other bed and just sort of awkwardly jack it facing them, or move to a corner, or is it rude to move at all? Biting his lip, he flips back through every website he read through, but he’s drawing a blank on masturbation etiquette.

Well, fuck it.

“Can I? Um...” Michael makes a vague gesture with his fist and then discreetly points at his half-hard dick. “Yeah?”

“We just had sex, homeslice,” Jake says, slapping his back. “Do you really think I’m gonna care?”

“Yeah,” Rich agrees. “What are we, three dudes sitting five feet apart because we’re not-”

Christine practically  _ screams _ , voice cracking, and Jenna’s whispering something to her, petting her hair as she gasps against her thigh. 

Rich looks impressed. “... Gay. Do you think he’d ever do that to me? If we do this again sometime, I mean.”

Michael blinks, freezing half way through grabbing his dick. “Again?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed, or some shit,” Rich says, eyes fixed on a point somewhere to the left of Michael’s forehead. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not like you, or anyone, I just,” Michael waves his hands, because maybe sign language will succeed where words are failing him. “I think I’d like to do this again? Maybe? Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Dude,” Jake says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Michael shivers from the contact, but doesn’t act on the it, because for all Rich and Jake are supportive of it, jacking off in the middle of a conversation is still weird. “We’re going to be friends no matter what, so don’t worry about it right now. Serious conversations aren’t really suited for the middle of an orgy, you know?”

Those words of Jake-ish wisdom are definitely some of the weirdest Michael’s heard from him, right up there with “When your boyfriend’s angry, put a cape on them and call them Super-Mad” and “Draw the faces of people you miss on balloons, then deflate them and put them in your wallet so they’ll always be with you.” 

“Yeah, actually,” Michael says, nodding. “You’re right.”

Jake nods, looking like a very smug Abercrombie and Fitch model, and politely does not stare at Michael’s dick.

Michael appreciates this immensely. He’s still a little anxious, sliding his hand up his thigh as he eyes the narrow strip of skin showing where Jeremy’s shirt has ridden up. Slowly, he wraps his hand around himself, like Jake and Rich are rabbits that might startle if he makes any sudden movements. 

Thankfully, neither of them really seems to be paying attention, and Michael’s comforted by that, catching his breath out of the limelight. It’s nice, stroking himself slowly and enjoying the diffuse pleasure before his orgasm starts to build.

Michael doesn’t really get that far before Jeremy stands, stretching his arms above his head. Michael meets him halfway across the room, and takes in his dark eyes, flush, and the dark spot staining the front of his boxers.

“So,” Michael says, wrapping an arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and setting a hand on his hip. “You’ve been good-” He pauses to press a kiss to Jeremy’s cheek as he whines at the praise- “How do you want to come?” 

“I-” Jeremy licks his lips. “I want you to fuck me, please just-”

Michael cuts him off with another kiss. “Do you want me to prep you, or…?”

“Actually,” Christine says as she sits on the bed, smiling brightly. “I don’t know, but maybe I could return the favor? I mean, get him ready for you and stuff?”

Jeremy’s breath hitches, red spreading across the tips of his ears, and that’s enough answer for Michael. 

“Jeremy  _ would love to _ ,” Michael says, because if Christine wants to tease Jeremy for him, she can be his guest. He pats Jeremy’s leg and slides off of him, grinning at him. “Told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”

_ “Sadist.” _

“Masochist.”

_ “Dork.” _

“Dweeb.”

“Boys,” Jenna chides them, and flicks a finger at Christine, sitting on the edge of the other bed. “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

Jeremy huffs and sits between Christine’s legs, back against her chest, and hands her the bottle of lube. She hums, smoothing her hands down his arms and hooking her fingers in the waistband of his boxers. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, and she slides his underwear down his legs until he can kick it off. Michael’s cock gives a twitch of interest when he sees how hard Jeremy is, flushed and leaking beautifully. If his jaw wasn’t already sore and if they didn’t already have plans, he’d love to suck him off.

But they’ve got an agenda, so Michael sits down next to them and and watches, palming himself. Everyone else seems pretty worn out- Jenna’s watching with her hand on her chin, smiling, and Rich and Jake are cuddling on the couch, but Michael appreciates that they’ve stuck around and not just wandered off to shower. In a weird way, he wants them to watch, to see how him and Jeremy fit together and flaunt it. It’s something they’ve had to fight for, and Michael wants to show them what they’ve won- the way that Jeremy gasps his name, how he can pick him apart and and pull him back him together, and that Jeremy trusts him enough to let him.

Christine goes slow, warming the lube on her fingers before she gently nudges Jeremy’s legs open, and god, what a view. 

He’s not really sure how far Christine and Jeremy went, back when they were together, so there's the briefest flicker of nerves as Christine traces a finger down Jeremy’s perineum, ut then she presses in, sliding smooth and slow like Michael knows Jeremy likes, and well, this is clearly not the first time. Weirdly enough, that doesn’t stir any jealousy, but Michael just sort of shrugs. Tonight’s been a montage of weird feelings and weird lacks-of-feelings, and in the grand scheme of things, the lack of response to Jeremy’s ex-girlfriend fingering him open in a way that can only be described as intimate is pretty minor.

He chooses to concentrate instead on the way Jeremy whines as Christine pushes in a second finger, how his knees shake and his hips buck when she curls her fingers, and then on rolling on the condom without dropping it.

He isn’t about to rush things, though. The first orgasm of night has him relaxed enough that it doesn’t feel like there’s any all encompassing need to come anymore, and he’s not about to push Jeremy, who looks pretty blissed out, limp in Christine’s arms, his cock leaking against his stomach.

Christine glances at Michael over Jeremy’s head, and he nods. “One second.”

She grins and Jeremy moans as she works a third finger into his ass, stretching him open. He cants his hips roughly, but Christine just hums and gently pushes him back down against the mattress, chiding.

Jeremy’s lips are red from biting them, his blue eyes half lidded, and he looks beautiful. Christine traces his waist, brushing the hem of his shirt, teasing, as she thrusts her fingers in and out, letting them catching on his rim as he clenches around them. Where Rich was unexpectedly quiet, Jeremy’s moans and gasps and strangled cursing are comfortably familiar. Michael’s had the privilege of seeing him get like this so many times before, and there’s something soothing about it now.

But as fun as this is to watch, Michael can tell Jeremy’s close, that he’s been close for a long, long time, and despite Jeremy’s insistence otherwise, he can be merciful. He walks over, taking the lube from the bedspread, pours some on his hands, and gets himself ready. “You ready, Miah?’

Jeremy looks like he wants to say something, but it just comes out as a needy whine as Christine brushes against his prostate one last time before drawing her sticky fingers out. There’s a little bit of shuffling as she wipes her hand on a towel, and everyone shifts around so Jeremy’s ass is on the edge of the bed, legs open.

“You good?”

Jeremy nods eagerly, and Michael smooths his hands down his hips, tracking the familiar constellations of freckles like a star map. He lines himself up carefully, and pushes in slow, sighing at the way Jeremy clenches around him, tight and hot and wanting.

He pauses when he’s all the way in, just savoring the smooth heat for a moment, but then Jeremy growls and bucks his hips, and Michael curses, because  _ Jesus Christ. _

He’s aware of Jenna and Rich and Jake watching, passing a bottle of soda in between them as their eyes trace over him, but it’s not bad. When he glances at them when he thinks no one will notice, Jenna catches his eye and gives him a thumbs up, which is equal parts comforting and weird. 

Carefully, he rolls his hips, testing the waters, and Jeremy’s groan, as he looks up through his lashes with lust black eyes, is all the reassurance he needs. He sets a decent pace, thrusting into Jeremy with short, sharp movements, searching.

It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, if the way Jeremy gasps and hooks his legs around him says anything. Michael was so nervous the first time they did this that Jeremy had eventually just rolled Michael over and ridden him so he could get some decent pressure without Michael asking him if he was okay every five seconds, but that was years ago. He knows what Jeremy likes now- hands tight on his thighs to hold him steady, and hard, rough thrusts, pounding into him until he’s overstimulated and twitchy.

Michael obliges, his nails leaving little white crescents on Jeremy’s thighs. He whimpers and Christine runs a hand through his hair, tracing it down his cheek to his waist. 

Jeremy’s shirt is rucked up to his collarbone in a way that just screams debauched, but he doesn’t seem to care as Christine slides a hand up to roll a nipple between her fingers, smiling at the way Jeremy gasps and squirms under the attention.

“Miah, you look so good like this,” He whispers, soft and fond and leaning in, and Jeremy surges up, trying to meet his lips. Michael shifts his hold on Jeremy’s hips, adjusting his angle, and Jeremy falls back against Christine, gasping and blinking back tears. “Look at you. You were so eager for us, and I mean- God. You’re such a slut. I love that.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jake says somewhere off to the side, sounding a little awed, but Jeremy’s moaning and clenching around him hard enough his knees shake, hard enough that all Michael’s neurons collectively short out and he can’t even feel embarrassed.

He loses the rhythm as he rides out his orgasm, bucking into Jeremy hard and fast, but Jeremy’s never really minded it before and he doesn’t really seem to now.

“Please,” He begs. “I need- I want to-”

Christine slides her hand down his belly, and meets Michael’s eyes for a moment. He nods, and she traces her fingers through the pre-come dribbled on his stomach, using it to slick the way as she grabs his cock, jerking him off with quick strokes.

Between Michael’s cock and Christine’s hand, Jeremy doesn’t last much longer. The way he squeezes around Michael when he comes is too damn much, but Michael rides out the overstimulation until Jeremy’s still, panting softly into the sheets.

Michael leans in and kisses him, and Jeremy meets him halfway. He pulls out slow, and yeah, the little whimper Jeremy makes when he’s empty will never not be cute. Michael ties off the condom and pitches it at the wastebasket, because he’s too tired to walk.

“And 3 points to Mr. Mell!” Jake says from the peanut gallery. “Score!”

“Shut up Jake,” Jeremy groans, sitting up and groping around for the box of wet wipes to clean the come off himself. Christine smirks and offers it to him.

Jake just laughs, watching with his head on Rich’s lap. “Make me.”

“Jake,” Michael says, wiping the swept off his brow with the back of his hand. “I’m too tired to do anything else.”

“I’m joking!”

“And I’m Jeremy.”

Christine snorts and shoots a pair of finger guns at Jeremy, reveling in some inside joke. He cracks a little smile and returns them, before leaning again Michael and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Michael watches him from the corner of his eye, taking in Jeremy’s half lidded eyes, bedhead and lazy smile.

He’s always gotten like this after coming, loose and cuddly and more comfortable in his own skin. Michael’s pretty sure that momentary respite from anxiety was how Jeremy jerked-off his way through high school, but he can’t really blame him for it. Sighing warmly, he reaches up and runs his fingers through Jeremy’s hair.

“We should probably wash up,” Jake says, standing and stretching.

“You guys can go first.” Jeremy sits up and pulls away just enough to wriggle out of his sweaty shirt, and then immediately flops back against Michael. He looks comfortable, lying there on the bed, and Michael's heart feels like it’s a helium balloon. “C’mere man.”

Michael smiles and lets Jeremy pull his arms around himself, dragging him down onto the rumpled sheets. 

Things are going to change after college. That’s unavoidable, but they’ve changed before, and they survived. Based on prior performance, things will be okay.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something relieving about this, curling around Jeremy in the hazy warmth of the afterglow and listening to their favorite people laugh and mill around the room. 

They’re happy now. Even if things change, and spiral south, they’ll still have this moment to look back on. Michael kisses the nape of Jeremy’s neck and holds him tighter, pride and love and you’ve-come-so-far welling up in his chest.

He may not be able to make sure everything is going to be okay after this, in two years or twenty, but he’s at least going to be ready if something doesn’t. 

They’ve got each other, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Look man, I'm not even going to try and explain where this fic came from. Truth became stranger than fiction about the time I got poisoned by toxic fumes while writing this.
> 
> Just.
> 
> Fuck man, leave a comment or something? I don't know. I'm gonna go drown my regrets now.


End file.
